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hollywoodx4 · 8 years ago

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Sticking With the Schuylers (23)

An introduction to James Reynolds

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The city roars to life below the modern penthouse balcony. The view is spectacular; all of central park is sprawled in the distance, lush greens against the harsh concrete landscaping provided by the busy city. The day is young-just barely beginning. He can tell by the way traffic crawls. Hardly any beeping, even some slight distances between one car and the next. Or, the day is coming to an end. That much he can’t tell.

He lingers in this limbo in a discontented state. A cigarette is perched suave between two fingers. His body leans tired against the couch, on the ground with one knee up and the other leg splayed out in front of him. His feet are bare but he still wears a tie, loosened and hanging around his neck in lax fashion.

He takes a long pull from his cigarette, letting the smoke linger in his mouth before blowing it out in a thin stream. The toxic chemicals billow in the chilled air around him. He watches through half-closed eyes, tilting his head back against the plush cushion of the outdoor couch. He listens to the start-and-stop of traffic-of bustling. He listens to the opening of their French doors. He takes another pull from his cigarette.

“Get that filth off of my balcony.”

“It was until you came by.” He doesn’t bother turning around to make his remark, rather the young man leaning against the couch flicks the ashes from his cigarette on the pristine balcony tiling. A silent protest. He can feel the irritation seeping from his new company. He doesn’t care-he mirrors it.

“James Reynolds you listen to me-I’m letting you stay here out of the goodness,”

“-What goodness?”

“-Out of the goodness in my heart. You hear me?” James still doesn’t turn around, yet raises his free hand to his forehead in a mock salute. His green eyes roll at his father’s statement. He tosses his cigarette onto the ground in front of him, digging his heel into it to put out the ember. Another act of defiance. His hand finds new hold on a half-empty bottle of red wine-dark, pungent. It’s silk moving down his throat, lips pressed to cool glass. It warms his insides from the late November air.

“You just starting or finishing?”

“What do you care?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Hardly ever.” He smirks then, casting shining, devilish eyes on his father’s tensed figure. But his father merely shrugs, swatting a hand in the air as he scoffs.

“You share?”

“You don’t even drink red.” James’s statement means nothing to the older version of himself, who slides his back down the couch until he’s next to his son on the floor. Scott Reynolds takes the bottle from his hands, examining it before pressing his own lips against it. The taste of red wine abhors him, but he winces and lets it sink down anyway. He’s welcomed by the familiar warmth, the relaxing air about him.

The two sit in an uncomfortable silence for a while, side-by-side, passing the glass bottle back and forth until it’s drained of its contents. James feels himself sitting a bit more forward, more tensed. Ready to escape in a moment’s notice. He’s well-aware of many things during this exchange; the fact that his father seems to be lingering between disappointment and resentment, the resounding truth that he probably shouldn’t be drinking right now…the largest awareness he has through all of this is that they’re even together. They’re socializing, like two old friends. A sinking feeling rests in James’s stomach, residing there until he drowns it with another. His father’s face, adorned with age-etched features and hard lines, clean shaven stubble and the pure air of renown; he feels it as if simply looking at his father has transferred those features to himself. He knows they’ve been there all along. Only recently have the true resemblances-the ones that lie inside of the men on the balcony-begun to show themselves.

He’d just moved back into the penthouse facing Central Park-well, he’d just found temporary residence there, anyway. He’d sold the apartment he’d had closer to the edge of central park, a cute little place much more suited for two than for a new bachelor. Now his nights were spent wherever he’d find himself, whether that be in the penthouse or underneath the lights of a club, a bar, a party. Either way, the rent was free and so was he-a free spirit, with the allowance to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. There were certain perks to being a twenty-six year old son of a high class lawyer. A lot of perks.

Those perks hadn’t begun until just now, however.

James knows he leads a privileged life; he relishes his privileged life. The ability to come and go as he pleases, to walk around the city with cameras flashing, knowing people are waiting for his next move…there are things within this life that excite James Reynolds more than anything in the world. There is an entire world he’d been privy to for the duration of his life that he’d always been aware of. It was just a matter of accepting things the way they were and moving along with his life. It was a matter of growing up. Of ignoring the things that were going on in front of him.

From a young age, he’d learned to keep his mouth shut.

Today, however, he’s found that his mouth does just fine open. Or closed. Or anywhere between, really. There is no fear within his heart; no inhibitions. On the Upper East Side he is a king, and the world finally beckons to him in a way it would not when he was a child. There is beauty. In this grown-up world, there is happiness. And the pursuit of it should come easily.

There is a standstill. Nothing frustrates him more than a standstill.

James rises from his place on the balcony floor, tossing the bottle into a nearby waste bin before leaning over the glass railing. One leg crosses behind the other. He rests his arms against the rails. Looking down upon the city there is so much that he can see. But there’s only one block of land that holds his interests long enough to care. There, he can just barely make out the short speck of green that lays before rows of sprawling mansions-a community both so out of place and glamorously nestled between the towering skyscrapers. And then, one specific home.

He’d spent countless hours at that mansion. An unfathomable amount of parties, galas…so much time invested. So many memories. In this stage of his life James can practically see them play out in front of his eyes, as if they’re happening in real time. Each jaunt on the Schuyler lawn, the walk from the mansion to the street of busy shops they’d frequented. There was so much in just one little strip of land-the span of nearly a year wrapped into one speck only clearly identified by himself.

Four blocks down, he can just make out the corner of the apartment he’d shared with her, back when he’d insisted they’d move in together. It was a wonderful idea. And James only reflected on that positivity-the way she looked helping him move boxes, how she’d speak when people asked about their move. There was something about having her around that he missed as he looked again upon the cul-de-sac of mansions dotting the hectic New York landscape. Rather, those feelings came more often from the tabloid covers he’d been keeping up with.

It’s her fault-her fault she’d left him, her fault she couldn’t handle a real relationship. He tells himself this as his eyes remain trained between the two buildings, remembering. Elizabeth could never have pleased him enough. There was always hesitance, an unbridled sense of restraint that came from her age and her status. Simultaneously, she seemed to care what people thought at one moment and was able to be carefree the next. It was always what suited her. Never what suited him. And then, she began to say no. Always no. Until the word no had driven him mad.

He still felt tense-unsettled-upon the mention of her name. And looking over at her house-and their house-from his father’s balcony only made things intensify.

Scott crosses the balcony with a fresh cup of coffee, knocking a second, unlit cigarette out of James’s hand. His son opens his mouth, eyebrows raised incredulously, before the steaming cup replaces it. Then James is pacified, turning his attention back to the zipping cars and his own thoughts. His father clears his throat. James wishes he’d leave him alone. The trait of stubbornness lives strong in the Reynold’s men, however, so Scott leans up against the railing as well.

“I saw Elizabeth at brunch on Sunday.” His voice is smooth, collected. He smirks as his son’s demeanor changes-just for a moment-before he is able to gather himself again. Too late. The observant trait far overpowers James’s ability to hide his reactions.

“And?”

“Nothing of interest. Phillip was chatting too long for me to take more than a notice of her. She still looks good-better, even.” No response. His father presses on, leaning closer to James with his eyes scanning his face, looking for a familiar change in features that would highlight his discomfort. It doesn’t take long.

“It runs in the family, doesn’t it?” The young Reynolds casts his eyes down to his coffee, watching the steam lingering in the cold air. He pretends he doesn’t hear. He pretends he doesn’t care. But as he washes his father’s words away more come, freely and without hesitation. The voice that is so publically branded as husky and gruff hits his son’s ears with a sharp and stabbing staccato. His words bring volume where tone will not.

“Speaking of Elizabeth, and of myself, the case with Lani has finally come to a close again. Turns out there are a lot of things money will allow you to do, James. Remember that when your time comes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t pretend like I don’t know how your relationship with Elizabeth played out.” There’s a similarity he can see in his father’s smirk then, eyes wild and all-knowing, posture relaxed. Looking at his father’s expression suddenly feels like looking into a mirror. His bitter black brew is much more interesting than this conversation.

And then there’s the past-the reminder that sends him back to his childhood. To that moment. And then that moment begins to meld into his own. He wonders what the seven year old version of himself would have said if he’d seen himself behind the bedroom door that cold December day. If he had seen that he would become the product of his own nightmares, would that have changed his course?

I wander down the hall, past empty bedrooms and the large sitting room, until the noise I’ve been following is loud in my ears, filling the hallway with its gruff tones. I should have known back then what that meant. I should have turned away. Dad was supposed to bring me to baseball that day-I was so excited, so happy that he’d taken an interest in my sport.

I was wearing that jersey, the one with the purple sleeves. It still hung loose around my thin frame but I wore it with pride, refusing to take it off even for a second. It stayed on me every time I was in the house. I wasn’t upset that my team’s color had been purple until my father had complained. I pretended to hate it too. I wanted to be just like him.

And the she bursts through the door. Her eyes are red and she covers her face with her hands. She nearly brushes past me until I call her name-it comes out in half a whisper. I’m nervous. I’ve never seen somebody crying so much before. But she stops. Takes a breath. Then, she uncovers her face and leans down to me. She puts one hand-why is she shaking-on my head, over my baseball cap. It’s the way she would comfort me when I had a bad day-the way she would hold me when she put me to bed. I notice that something is wrong but back then I was only seven-I didn’t have the level of knowledge to see just what could have happened.

I know better now.

Lani. My best friend-the one who was so willing to keep me company while my father was at work-always working-and my mother was sitting depressed in the living room, pretending that life wasn’t going on the way it was. She wanted me until she had me. She hated the life that we lived. She talked a lot about going home to Alabama. My father wouldn’t let her.

Lani’s hand was on my head and she whispered gently to me, words I couldn’t have understood. She talked about how kind I was, how sweet. She wished me luck in my tournament and kissed my forehead. She told me to stay as respectful as I was. I didn’t know until the next day that she had been saying goodbye to me forever.

I always thought she had abandoned me. But after a court case and a few years of gaining knowledge and understanding I later realize that she had been saving herself. Even though the jury ruled the opposite.

And the irony of it all was that while I felt the heartbreak of it all during the moment, I had turned into the man who had caused me that turmoil. And I feel not one second of remorse for it. In fact, I feel nothing at all-only anger. Searing anger.

“I don’t care what you did, you understand? It’s none of my business, anyway.” James is snarky, put-off. He moves away from his father, discarding the peace-offering beverage on a side-table and pulling yet another cigarette from his pocket. His father follows.

“But it is. Our business is exactly alike. Like father like son, they always say.” He pulls the rolled toxins from James’s fingers and flicks it, easily. The pair watches it fall slowly down to the city below. Silent. James rolls his eyes before moving away, casting a dirty look over his shoulder as he opens the balcony door once more. He knows that Scott is right.

“Enjoy your freedom now,” His father’s voice trails through the apartment after him despite his attempts to block it out. “The Schuylers are a very respected, very powerful family. If anything gets out,”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“-If anything gets out, you’ll be out on your ass. I’m not helping you through this one. I have enough of my own shit to deal with without another year spent in court on a case I’m not working.”

The warning should have been enough to bring his eyes away from the mansion—away from scrolling through Instagram posts, and tabloid covers. The memories of his father’s past and the trials that were still going on today should have been enough to steer James Reynolds as far away from the bottle of red wine the cigarette-from Elizabeth Schuyler. But he heeds no warning, feeling the familiar sensation of unapologetic superiority buzzing within himself. He relishes the familiar pop of a cork coming undone from another long glass bottle. As his lips brush the 400 dollar spirit he turns on the shower, letting the steam of it fog the air around him.

The warmth of the room boosts his sense of pride. He is untouchable, he is free-and with the stream of the shower, he has a renewed sense of life without consequence. James Reynolds has a plan.

#hamliza #hamilton #alexander x eliza #mine:swts #deadass I rewrote this chapter 4 times so take it how it is

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hollywoodx4 · 8 years ago

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Sticking With the Schuylers (19)

There’s this video I was absolutely dying watching the other day, which I’m now obsessed with, which turned into inspiration for this chapter. I don’t even know how many times I’ve watched it. There was also this picture that I came across probably the same day that I saved immediately becauae the look on his face I can’t.

In this part, Alexander seeks advice from a friend, which leads to a night out...

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Alexander finds himself at Angelica’s door early the next morning-5 A.M, to be exact. He hasn’t slept; no, the night had been surrounded with too many feelings-too much to consider. He and Eliza had sat in the swinging chair at Benny’s for hours, until the sun had come down. She’d taken a nap curled into his chest while he watched the traffic, one hand wrapped securely around her while the other stroked her hair. He thought.

He tried not to imagine the situations she’d laid out in front of him; even with her timid voice and her lack of detail the images continued to flash through him in sporadic bursts of pain. He’d hold her tighter. And then, looking down at her-lips slightly parted, eyes moving underneath shut eyelids, hand still on top of his-he wonders how somebody could do the things that had been done to her.

She’s kind-so kind, and loving…she’s been spending time with Laurens while he’s been in class, making friends with him and cheering him up during his long shifts. She’s become friends with Herc’s Julia-a more shy, subtle type. She’s spent time with just her, taking her having lunch with her and sitting with her during the game nights she’s been to. She’s been patient with Laff’s raucous, unfiltered jokes, and to him…She’s been so good to Alexander. Too good, he thinks; she’s been patient, and understanding…he’s well aware of the fact that he rambles on too much for his own good. But Eliza listens. She doesn’t do the fake kind of listening either, where there’s just head nods and ‘yes, mhm.’ No, Elizabeth Schuyler genuinely listens to every word he has to say, no matter how much of a tirade he may seem to go on. And it’s amazing, to have somebody respond so fully and truly when he’s exhausted himself from talking again; to feel like he doesn’t have to filter himself for her.

And then Eliza just has this way about things; this warm, gentle kindness that spreads evenly throughout the people she’s met. Alexander is sure she’s never hurt a single soul. He’s frustrated that somebody would hurt her.

And there’s a part of him-a piece of him that feels responsible. He knows that he hadn’t even known her when this was happening; that the events of her trauma connect in no way to where or who he was at that point in his own life. But that pang is still there; he’s always seemed to be too late-not quick enough, or smart enough. And in this moment, he wishes he could have just known her that fraction of time more; long enough to protect her. Long enough to kick James Reynold’s ass. Long enough to let her know that he’d be there for her.

Which brought him to sunset; Eliza stretching against him, yawning as she untangled her contorted body from the swing they’ve been set in for a few hours. And then he’d looked down at her, concerned, to receive a slight smile in return. And she’d bent her head up to him, letting her lips linger on his-warm lips, gentle hands resting on the side of his face as she runs her thumb across newly formed stubble.

“Thank you,” she’d rested her head against his-her words a breath of air; a sigh of relief against his skin. The anger he had felt before she had woken up dissipates with the feeling of her skin on his. He is relaxed by it. He is better. “For being here.”

They’d ended up eating dinner with Benny, who’d made enough for a small army when he’d realized they were still there. They have fresh pasta, and garden-grown tomato sauce. Alex holds her hand over the table. Benny grins, his eyes twinkling, as he looks on at the couple. Eliza has been chatting animatedly, asking questions about business and about Benny’s personal life-his own daughter, older and married with three children-spends most of her time in Australia now. He hasn’t seen his grandchildren in a while, not since his wife has passed. She’s apologetic, saddened. He shakes his head.

“You, piccolo, spread love enough to brighten my days. And now this,” He gestures to Alex’s hand, still holding hers over the table. He’s been looking on at her all night, joining conversation sporadically while only taking brief moments with his eyes away from hers. The old Italian man has noticed; the way this young man has been so attentive, so sure…it’s a mannerism that reminds him a lot of himself; of his wife that has passed. This young man looks at Elizabeth with as much certainty as he’d been able to look at his wife for all the time they’d had together.

“Bella Tesoro,” He sighs the words as he leads them out of the shop front and onto the busy streets, flipping the open sign to closed behind them.

It isn’t until they’ve gotten back to Eliza’s, and he’s kissed her at her door, that Alex has remembered the words.

“What did Benny mean, when we were walking out tonight?” Eliza smiles at him, one hand on his, lingering.

“Bella Tesoro…beautiful treasure.” She pulls herself into him for one last moment, a brush of her lips on his cheek before she opens the door to her suite. “I think he’s on to something.”

But despite the seemingly resolved ending to their night he still tosses and turns, unable to find comfort in the quiet of his room or the loneliness of it all. It’s not as if he’s alone, in fact Alexander’s apartment is very much full-Herc has Julia over, John and Laff are busy with a days-long Lord of the Rings marathon...there are walls of noise-echoes of chaos that he’d normally find comfort in. But the noises are muted to Alexander, who lays on his side-his stomach-his back, restless and with a clogged mind.

Which brings him to 5 A.M, knocking feverishly on Angelica Schuyler’s door. When she answers she looks ticked off-it’s Monday morning, a day where early classes are non-existent for either of the friends. And she’s still in her pajamas-reasonably so-pulling her hair into a ponytail as she looks at him with disbelief written all over her features.

“Angelica, I just need someone to talk to.” She rolls her eyes, taking in his appearance. He’s dressed in old jeans and a hoodie, hair looking haphazardly combed and shoved underneath a red beanie. His eyes have the same dark bags she’s taken as his a trademark of his anxiety. She opens the door wide, stepping aside so he can make his way in.

“Give me a minute, I need to make sure John knows we have company so he’s not completely freaked by the panicked elf sitting on our couch at…5 in the morning,” As she trails down the hallway he can just hear the diction in the words that follow behind her, including Ungodly hour and good lord, Alex. When she returns she’s being followed by a man dressed in a black-collared shirt and khakis. He looks Alex over carefully, regarding him skeptically before looking back at Angelica.

“Alex Hamilton-usually rambling, frantic hot mess who’s dating Betsey.” He almost takes offense to her introduction but she’s grinning-teasing-so he simply stands and extends a hand to the man.

“John Church-put-together mess, also dating a Schuyler sister.” Alex nods; he knows the name, putting a face to it finally seems a bit strange-as if John Church had been a legend come to life. “Almost 9 years now, too. They’re good, the Schuylers.”

“They are.”

“You’re right we are.” Angelica interjects, once again opening the door. John smiles, recognizing his cue and making his way to her. “Go to work so I can calm him down, please?”

“I’ll grab a coffee on the way. It was nice to meet you, Alex.” When she’s shut the door she takes a moment, moving to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. She’s sure he doesn’t need it-Alex is jittery enough as it is-but she offers him a cup when she returns, sitting on the sofa in front of him. And once she sits, it’s like the floodgates have opened once more. He takes not even half a breath before beginning.

“Angelica, I need…I was just-Eliza…I’m not sure how to approach this conversation, and,”

“You guys had a conversation?”

“We did, and it-I just-I want to help her. Okay, that came out wrong. I promise, I don’t want to change her-I love her, I wouldn’t change her for anything, I just,”

“You love her?”

Alex’s face flushes bright red but he relents, straightening his posture and making deliberate, serious eye contact with Angelica. Her lips are turned up in a knowing smirk, head tilted and eyebrows raised. He thinks about every moment; every second he’s been able to spend with her sister. And it’s just the thought of her, her name gliding through his subconscious, which has the power to sooth him. To warm him from the inside out. He’s sure.

“I do.”

“Okay it’s been what, 2 months?”

“Almost 3.”

“Okay.” Angelica takes a moment, looking Alex up and down as if she doesn’t know quite what to make of him. He’s standing tall, putting on this incredible façade of cool confidence. But Angelica knows him better; he’s an easy read. While he stands with planted feet and gives her eye contact, his hands remain by his side-familiar fidget cube finding its way to them. He clicks the soundless button back and forth, taking in deep and calculated breaths. Angelica’s glad she’s making him nervous.

“Okay?” Alex answers her with a question, unsure of exactly what she means. She hasn’t broken her expression since he’d let the three words slip; trademark smirk still finding its way to make him incredibly nervous. “Angelica I know it hasn’t been long but when you know, you know. And I love Eliza.”

“Okay. I meant okay….it’s alright. You’re a good person, Alex.” She can see his sigh of relief, the way his chest expands and falls as he has trouble containing the smile that spreads rapidly across his face. She hides her own smile, suddenly hardening her stare on him.

“But I swear to god Alex Hamilton if you so much as think about hurting her,”

“I won’t. I couldn’t.”

“Good.” She rises from the couch then, nodding at him with closed eyes-her own sort of blessing. Angelica takes his empty coffee cup to refill, speaking to him from the kitchen. “So you said you need help with something?”

…

Eliza lays on her bed, feet up in the air and head propped on her hands. Angelica flies around the room, pulling random items from her closet with an agenda-driven flurry of movement. She watches her older sister, sighing and pulling her blanket closer to her body. The quiet Tuesday night wasn’t going quite to the plan she’d set out.

First, she’d sent Alexander a text while she was in her 7am class. He hadn’t replied. Which was fine, really, until it grew to be noon and she’d become antsy about the entire situation. What if he’d changed his mind after hearing her story? What if all of their talking has just been a moment-what if he’d gone home and realized that things weren’t actually going to work out? What if she really was too damaged for him?

But he’d reassured her with a text back around 12:30, putting a rain check on their plans because of a group project he’d been roped into doing the most of. She’d understood-of course, because it was Alexander and group projects were his most hated aspect of school. But her understanding of his need to work wouldn’t just make him appear. So she’d decided to stay in.

Usually, she’d be all over the night. The old Eliza would have jumped on the chance; the old Eliza would have been the one dragging Angie out. And as she watched her older sister put together an outfit she didn’t particularly care for, she wished she could just be the old Eliza again. There hadn’t been a moment where she’d deny plans with her sisters, or with new friends. She’d always jumped at the opportunity to have fun-to feel that carefree feeling that came along with a good group of friends and a night out. But tonight, part of her just can’t pull herself back.

Angelica stops in her flurry to reach down to her sister, putting a hand on her shoulder before helping her up, much to Eliza’s dismay. There’s a glow in Angelica’s eyes-a mischief-that pulls her along. And before she can hesitate she’s moving to her closet to pick out something different, blinking back the tightened feeling in her chest and the numbness in her body. She was determined to have a good time, if not for Angelica’s sake.

When they got to her favorite Hibachi place, tucked between a small grocery store and a Law firm, Eliza already felt better. There was something about the atmosphere-giant koi pond in the lobby, cheap decorations with fading color placed haphazardly around the room-that made her instantly excited. And then, their waitress leads them to a high table, roped off with blue streamers. Angelica smirks. Eliza stares.

“Oh, and happy birthday!” Her eyebrows raise in question, and she’s just about to open her mouth to protest when a gaggle of other voices chime in to the well wishes. Five bodies pop up from behind the table, the first catching her eye sporting a collared shirt and khakis along with his usual ponytail. He has this grin on this face-his teeth aren’t showing but his lips are turned up so much that his cheeks are very visibly raised by them. They make immediate eye contact and she shakes her head, closing the distance between them with haste.

“What’s this?”

“Just a party. Happy fake birthday!” She smacks Alexander’s arm then, looking between him and his friends-their friends-in disbelief.

“We can’t just pretend it’s my birthday! There’s something that’s just so morally wrong about that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little party. Besides, there’s still one more surprise.”

“Another one? Alex, there’s no way-,”

“-But to get your surprise you have to stay, and let us pretend it’s your birthday and share our scorpion bowls.” Everyone’s looking at her, waiting for her response. Eliza lets her eyes scan the room once more; there’s blue helium balloons and white lace garland. There are even tiny plastic cats at every seat, their place-markers. The sight of it all nearly makes her cry.

“Did you plan all of this?”

“Angelica helped a lot with the ideas of it. And then everyone got on board-John bought the little cats, Herc and Laff got the balloons…”

“It’s amazing. Thank you.” She looks to everyone first, grinning, before wrapping her arms around Alexander. The embrace is tight-she doesn’t let go until Peggy coughs, drumming on the hibachi table.

“If we don’t sit down they’ll never come and feed us!”

Eliza’s enjoying herself-John catches the most green beans the chef throws, bragging about it until their meals come. Alex gets hit in the face with his and it lands on his plate with a resounding thunk that sounds twice as funny from the other side of his scorpion bowl. She sips her drink; there’s no need to get it all in at once. There’s nothing to hide from here, no reason to forget the memory that’s being created.

That’s not saying that she and Alex don’t completely finish their own drink before their meals are served. But she’s happy, laughing at Laff’s antics in struggling through the words on the menu through his thick French accent. And suddenly, very easily, she feels as though she’s back in her element again. She’s cracking jokes, effortlessly making her way through four conversations at once…it’s all beautifully intimidating, in a way that makes him comfortable to sit back while she works the room.

And then he’s gone, leaving her with only a squeeze of her hand while he maneuvers his way to the entrance once more. Eliza’s upset, looking back to where he’d gone with a pout while Angelica attempts to bring her back into the conversation.

And it works-right until the sound of microphone feedback interrupts them again.

“Oh god, sorry, I need to just-okay, that’s better.” Alexander maneuvers his way around their little corner of the restaurant, chorded microphone in hand as he trips over wires in attempts to stop the awful noise. Once he’s settled his eyes find their way back to Eliza again. He flashes her another trademark grin as she looks back at him with wrinkled nose and narrowed eyes-a silent ‘what the hell’ that moves her lips. “Alright, here’s surprise #2.”

He shrugs before moving to a silver rectangular box, pressing a button before holding the microphone with both hands. An old, familiar R&B melody starts and Eliza can’t contain her yelp of excitement.

“Get out of here, he is not about to do karaoke this is not happening!” She turns to Peggy, who’s swiftly taken out her phone to record the moment. Alex is in a rare form, showboating and loosening up, and as the song continues his stage presence intensifies. He’s added dance moves, swaying with the microphone and wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She’s never laughed so hard in her life. A few of the people seated by them have their heads turned their way, but nothing seems to shake the confidence Alex has. He points to her while he sings, getting into the song and using voices that only make her laughter intensify. She covers her face with her hands in mock embarrassment.

When the final notes of the song play out she’s the first out of her chair, hollering and clapping wildly. But he refuses to leave the stage; he saves his place before dragging her out there as well, giving her a second microphone and flipping through their song options on the screen. She hangs over his shoulder, face pressed against his as she tries to get a peek at what he might be choosing.

When the first few notes of the song play through the speakers she hops up, laughing, before assuming the character of Sandy from Grease. It’s a strange mixture of pineapple rum and the hype of their small crowd that leads them through their performance, and by the time it’s Eliza’s turn to sing they’ve both begun dancing and moving as far as their microphones will let them travel. When the first chorus comes around they’re trailing each other around their little corner. Eliza’s grinning ear-to-ear, and there, in her slightly dilated eyes, is the same shining warmth he’d been witness to so many days before-the happiness he’d been hoping to give her.

Her happiness only fuels his need to perform-to make her laugh-even more.

Alex picks up the karaoke machine, making his way to the table before hopping up. Eliza follows until he stands, shoes on, atop the countertop. But it’s only a moment’s hesitation-he’s still singing, one hand extended out to her as he bops on the balls of his feet. Then they’re in a full-blown dance routine, one of her hands on his chest leading him back, him following her like a lost puppy. They maneuver around the countertop with carefree, dainty, shoe-clad feet, and Eliza’s sure it’s the most fun she’s had in years.

Even though they’re kicked out of the restaurant.

Her laughter trails through the bustling nighttime streets of Manhattan as they crowd around Peggy’s phone, watching the impromptu performance again. It’s a chilly November night, her fake birthday. Eliza wraps her arm around him, head on his chest, and whispers thanks into his ears one thousand times over. He shakes his head; although his cheeks are still slightly red from the initial embarrassment of the karaoke, Eliza’s presence warms everything up once more. She is happy. His goal is complete.

#hamliza #hamilton #mine:swts #um so #i'm realizing how long this series is getting #thanks for sticking around because daaaang #i'm just living for alex being a good lil bean all the time #and for MAKING HIM DESERVE HER #i also accidentally posted this too early once already #whoops #sometimes i like to schedule them for random ass times during the day #keep it real #comment a time of day and we can arrange it

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